Assumption pt4
by fl0aty
Summary: in this chapter Walter returns to the Temple of the Halo of the Sun and tries to find some answers... 0621 pt.2.


The time had come, certainly, he surmised, that something more needed to be done. If naught else the meat he'd collected from his victims would soon begin to rot. already he could detect a change in the scent; the rich blood smell was starting to tinge with rot. br This was solved easily enough by the theft of a cooler from a construction site, but it was a temporary solution at best.br It was funny tho, how few people saw him; a tall, bedraggled man with a stained coat talking to himself as he helped himself to the things he chose to steal. Funny how while the city was abuzz with this new terror the very perpetrator could walk by almost entirely unnoticed.br It was time to wind it all back, Walter decided, return to the source.br In the first instance this was easy enough; he chose to return to South Ashfield Heights.P The landlord was a very hands-off, stay at home kind of guy these days; in essence the building was going. It wasn't a complete slum yet, per se; but there was evidence of garbage built up in the halls; odd stains and things left unswept.br There'd been construction on one of the walls on the second floor landing; Walter decided that this was, in fact the right place to come. He returned briefly to the subway to gather the things he was choosing to keep hidden; surely hiding them at 'home' would seem safer.Safer than what? It was only a niggling feeling in the back of his mind, but he had some sense the day might come his little subway tunnel nest might not be as safe as it used to be...br He almost didn't. To stop and knock at 302 would bring back old and bitter memories. All his childhood spent trying to get someone who probably was long long gone to open that door; being yelled at and chased off by unsympathetic grown ups...br no, better to just try the roof; there were always places to hide things on rooves.  
Still. he had to at least walk past. Touch the doorframe. Prove to himself he'd been there.P

The keys were in the lock.br The last tenant had moved out a short while ago; renovations were being done on the room. Walter's heart sang; here at least was proof the universe was backing him, somehow in the horrid things he was doing. br The ceremony COULD go right, he thought, as he lay on the floor of the back room of the place that had once been his home.Sort of rolling around on the floor in bliss, just feeling so happy to be 'home', however briefly.Surely this was a sign. He knew he couldn't stay long this time. But maybe now he would be able to return and use this place while it was vacant.br He pocketed the keys and hid his goodies on a shelf of tools and brickabrack, stuffing his things far to the back. br Chances were even the tenants didn't have access to this room. It didn't seem to be a part of the apartment so much as one of the landlord's storerooms. Judging from the buildup of old boxes of fuses, dried buckets of paint, and dusty tools, Walter was sure his things would be safe here.  
It was time to move on.P

Two voices certainly ruled Walter at this time; the demon's when he was moved to do wrong, but he still had his own sense of self, his own voice. It was rare these two voices ever agreed with one another, but in this mission they both had the same need. iSource. Return to the source./i Valtiel was ever clamoring back there wanting him to follow thru with the ritual; that this would mean more killing was not the issue at the moment. There were sacred tools that were needed, precise spells. The white chrism, the obsidian cup, the red tome. These things were all at the Temple of the Halo of the Sun, he knew, and that meant going back to Silent Hill, back to the Wish House. down to the tunnels where the secrets took place. br down where he had killed James Stone.p As much or moreso tho were Walter's own reasons in his head- he needed to know exactly what had happened to him. Why iwas/i this demon so free in him? just what the hell had these crazy people done to him to make him what he was becoming? br He went this time fairly level headed, and prepared for violence. He should expect violence. They owed him nothing, and they had played him for a fool. Thought him weak. He had certainly shown them tho, hadn't he? Turning the tables as he had. br The point certainly was that there would be no welcome party. if he needed answers he'd have to be prepared to beat them free. These people loved their secrets. br Walter was quite prepared for this eventuality. He wanted it, needed it. Could feel it so close he could almost taste it.P The familiar busride deposited him at the further end of the Toluca Lake park. he would have to walk down the trails and then branch off where he knew the secluded little orphanage was hidden. br Climb those high walls he had climbed often before. br and, if necessary, kill any of those mad bastards who got in his way.br Walter felt strangely calm contemplating this. There was a serenity in his troubled mind as he had not felt in some time.br It helped to have a bit of the white singing in his veins too, maybe. He had no idea what went into that drug, but he certainly wasn't putting it down anymore at this time. Once in awhile you just needed to have your blood sing, your every muscle feel like tigers. Once in awhile you needed to feel no pain. br Who could fault him?br

He knew his way to the secret place where the rituals were held and crept there with a panther-like sureness.br Two of the priests were there, doing something. The one had hold of one of the cloths laid out on the altar at the times of sacrifice, and the other was rifling thru the safe.br Walter's eyes narrowed, and his smile was bemused. Without Stone's guidance was it all falling apart this easily? Valtiel had of late been not as present. Subtly nagging about the time being near and the things being needed, but not tormenting Walter with the litany of inadequacy, the incessant order to go and kill. As he felt the demon slip in beside him, Walter almost welcomed it like an old friend who had his back. This was interesting. Was he, then, the only true believer here? iAnnihilate them/i Valtiel urged, and it was almost a proper conversation this time; "not til I've found some answers," Walter whispered, and crept forward into the faint circle of light.br "Hello, Toby. Hello, George."P Walter smiled to see them panic. br "Walter Sullivan?" Toby looked ready to bolt. The sacred cloth wrung in his hands like a security blanket, as if he hoped it would ward off the killer who stood before them now. They iknew/i he had been the one to have killed Stone. If nothing else, they'd probably done a Ritual of Revealing, but it didn't take a rocket scientist, really.br Walter laughed."You know it." and lowered his head, looking at them darkly, "you mind explaining to me exactly what you fucks DID to me? All this time.. you'd been expecting to use ime/i somehow, hadn't you? Sacrifice me at your leisure." br Their guilty looks and increased panic answered that one well enough, altho the other priest, George, was determined to try to bluff. If he spoke with authority, he figured, perhaps young Sullivan would be cowed. Old habits die hard, after all...br "YOu have no right to just barge in here, Walter," the man spoke, trying to hide the shakiness in his voice under a sheen of stern authorative tones, "you of all people should know that this is a sacred place." br "Oh, it is, uh huh," Walter agreed, "and that's why you're stealing the money of offering, I take it? Done with the sacred and ready to make a clean getaway to the world of the profane...br I am here for the chalice," he continued, "and the anointing balms. Any chance you guys might have seen it?" br The two men looked scareder still.A novice like Sullivan shouldn't even have known of these things. That he did meant only one thing... "iYou/i're going to attempt the 21 Sacraments?" George asked, incredulous, "but you can't...that's not for anyone who has not studied the secrets for years... you're too young! Just a kid!"br The man's choice of words began to flare the anger in Walter, and Valtiel stood somewhere just behind him, behind his eyes, ready to ignite it to a killing flare in a matter of moments. George Rosten was a cowardly man, obviously, and to be sure not good with children. It had been he who had called Walter a bastard all those years ago; he who had given Walter his first scar in a drunken outburst. br That he still saw Walter as 'just a kid' was enough to bring that anger up and set it boiling.br Valtiel and Walter seemed to speak as one. "you tell these children they are nothing, and then you lift up a few to be chosen. You fire their hope. a chance to be different, for their pain to have some semblance of meaning. and then? they become reduced to nothing, to less than nothing, meat for the rituals YOU do not even presume to understand. This body anointed, this body deemed chosen. But you have no idea. You had no idea what exactly this 'child' has been chosen for. br It is the will of Valtiel that this 'child' is the receiver of the 21 Sacraments. and for a new priest to rise, the weak one must die!" br That there was something more in there than Walter was a given to the priests; they iknew/i what this was all about. Were they just going to stay there and die for the will of Valtiel? not if they could help it. br Toby Archbolt made for the exit. Because of the unique nature of what he had seen he would not be able to tell anyone; he would spend the rest of his life running, hoping to put as much distance between himself and the cult as possible.br George Rosten foolishly sought to destroy the god and so end all of this.br While Walter was talking he had grabbed the nearest available weapon, an iron pipe lying on the floor nearby.Hardly a 'sacred' object still, it would bust some heads nicely. br It hadn't even occured to Rosten to grab one of the ritual knives, or to look for James' gun. His own survival urge said to smash this kid; if he could get Walter down perhaps he could destroy the demon that possessed him too. Did Rosten iknow/i the demon was Valtiel? was he hoping to kill god rather than being punished for his crimes against the church?br Rosten had the upper hand, as Walter was disoriented for a moment after being the vehicle of Valtiel's message.br Rosten got behind him and struck him with the pipe, hard. Walter crumpled, of course. the blow had hit the back of his neck and his shoulderblades; the pain was unforgiving, and everything in his head was swimming.br He felt the second blow towards the middle of his back and could only wince, and roll over. Had it just been Walter himself at this point, ihe/i'd have been the one to die this night, no doubt; the onset of pain just set him back to his old patterns of taking it, being the victim. One arm up to ward off the expected blow to the head, his eyes wide with fear and the certainty of dying.br Rosten raised the pipe and prepared to crush the skull of Walter Sullivan.br but it was far from just Walter in there, and it was Valtiel certainly who caught the pipe in midair and plucked it from Rosten's hand like a child's toy.br Walter rose slowly, like an animated corpse. br This was an almost-complete possession. He was witness to the work done, but had no more control than a dog would over its master.  
Rosten had fallen now, tripped over one of the candleabras. iHe/i was the one with his arm up now, hoping to ward off blows he seemed to know with certainty were coming. The tables had turned.br "Never send a minion to do a god's work," Walter felt his lips say in Valtiel's voice, and the pipe struck home. P

Valtiel could do many things with and for Walter, but healing him didn't seem to be a priority, and Walter was panicked. His back ached, and his hand could barely close; a few bones had been cracked in catching the pipe in mid air. Or perhaps in pounding George Rosten's head to mush; Walter wasn't clear when it had happened. br All he knew was his breathing was labored, and his vision was murky; he hadn't gotten off scot free this time. iRelax/i Valtiel told him casually, iyou've done very well this time. for a treat? you can sleep in the apartment tonight. I promise no one will dare disturb you./i Walter let this promise calm him. Still, hauling the things back from the tunnels and all the way to Ashfield was not anymore easy for that promise...br He had them now. The chalice. The anointing oils.Some books, and some packets of the white claudia; he'd need this more than ever for the pain. and of course, the heart of George Rosten. br Somewhere back there a body lay, it's head a ruin of crushed bone and brainmeat. The chest cavity, however, had been neatly sewn back shut and sealed with black thread; across the body was carved the numbers. font faceProbot06/21/fontbr Walter was nothing if not obssessed. Each little detail had got to be right.  
He made his way back to South Ashfield Heights without incident, and into the storeroom in the back of 302. br There he slept dreamlessly for an indeterminate amount of time, recovering a little from his wounds.P 


End file.
